A Mild Case of Indigestion

by Geoffrey Watson

  This dowdy lot had shapeless flat bonnets and dull green riding cloaks, for the temperature in the hills was chill; quite unlike the springtime, fruit-blossomed countryside in the plains. The hampering cloaks were being removed and stowed, but the dull browns and greens helped not at all in identification.

  Welbeloved quickly decided that it was up to him to take the initiative and make the first move. He felt that he had little to gain by confrontation and had been studying the lie of the land between the road and the foothills over half a mile away. It was mostly flat with occasional clumps of trees and should pose no problem, even for the wheels of the two wagons.

  He rapped out orders and the head of his column trotted off the road in the direction of the foothills, followed closely by everyone else. In doing so, they revealed to the French the size of their opposition. It also told the French commander that the strange cavalry were not friends and that they were seeking to avoid confrontation, perhaps from weakness or lack of confidence. He too rapped out a series of orders and his leading company marched forward into the space vacated by the horsemen.

  As the men got farther from the road, Welbeloved could see the total length of the four-company battalion. All were now facing him. The rear company was marching in line to cut across his advance, while the first company was quick-marching to stop his retreat. The four companies were forming a crescent formation to trap him up against the high ground, nearly a mile from the road. At the same time each company was widening its front so that in a double line, all four hundred of the battalion’s muskets could be fired in two devastating volleys.

  Welbeloved was impressed. This was a display of aggressive drill that might have been performed by the redcoats. He had seen regiments forming square against cavalry on many occasions, but they usually made sure that the horsemen were on the outside.

  If a regular cavalry unit was trapped in this way, he guessed that they would charge at one of the wing companies and probably break through to safety, accepting high casualties on both sides. But then, a regular cavalry unit would probably not have allowed itself to be placed in such a predicament. Presumably the French commander saw them as a bunch of Spanish irregulars and anticipated little resistance. It was all very irritating.

  He blew two long blasts on his whistle, at which the whole squadron turned and cantered toward the rising ground directly away from the advancing French. He had noticed that all along this road there were many places, before the hills started to rise steeply, where rocky meadows nestled up to the slope on a raised shelf or miniature plateau.

  This rise up to the shelf was quite irregular and no more than ten feet high. Even the two wagons found a gentler slope and followed the horses to the back of the plateau, where a scattering of chestnut trees gave an illusory cover for the animals.

  Most of the men dismounted at the top of the small rise and the girls, with a dozen Wasps herded the animals away to the rear. The French commander at this point, might have revised his opinion a little. He could see his prey dismounting and spreading out along the ledge like a brown-green tide. Then they vanished and all he could see was the horses among the trees and a dozen figures running forward, to vanish equally abruptly when they reached their friends.

  More orders were shouted and the French advance ground to a halt. It was time to reconsider, but only in a tactical sense apparently. The short slope up to where the enemy lay was an obstacle; nothing more. It was almost a relief to be able to revert to proven, traditional French drill.

  It was orderly, regimented and satisfying to watch. The four companies formed up again into their order of march; blocks of men in four ranks of twenty-five. The outer companies then marched stolidly to join the inner companies to make two blocks of eight ranks. They were going to smash through their enemy in two fat columns.

  Welbeloved couldn’t believe his luck. He had been mildly concerned about being outflanked by a long double line, but now his men would have two large targets that would be difficult to miss, even with standard muzzle-loaders.

  He raised his voice. “Hornets! Officers and sergeants first! Then fire at will when yew have a target. Wasps! One volley at two hundred yards, then fire at will.” The orders were repeated all along his two hundred yard front, then all that could be heard was the tap, tap, tap, of the drums beating out the slow marching pace of the French advance.

  He trained his glass on the two bodies of men, then searched for the officers. Junior officers, captains of companies and lieutenants in charge of platoons were expected to lead their men and there they were, striding out in front of each column. The Hornets would seek them out once they came within four hundred yards.

  The better shots, Evans, MacKay and himself would be looking for bigger game. He swung his glass to capture the commander with two senior subordinates, riding together at the rear and between the two columns.

  He lowered the glass and automatically searched for small landmarks that he could use to judge the range more easily. There was a small juniper or similar shrub growing as near as dammit to four hundred yards and the head of the columns would be level with it in the next half minute. He would expect one or two of the Hornets to try their luck any time now and wouldn’t be at all surprised if Juanita was one of the first.

  He had noticed her sneaking away from the horses to hide herself close to MacKay. Ever since she had been given her own Ferguson, she really fancied herself as a marksman. To be fair, she was as good as most of the Hornets and her nimble fingers could load the weapon just as quickly as he could himself.

  The juniper was trampled underfoot. He waited for the first shot from his men and watched the three horsemen riding easily and nonchalantly forward, quite unaware that Evans probably had them in his sights and was waiting for the ideal moment.

  His men were in no hurry to start. They had enough confidence to let the enemy get much closer than would have been the case last year and with a moving target it was better to be certain at three hundred yards than nearly certain at four hundred.

  It was uncanny how the men were beginning to think alike; almost empathic how four separate shots came within two seconds and all four of the captains were smashed to the ground. In the next ten seconds, all the leading officers were down and Welbeloved concentrated on the left-hand rider, squeezing the trigger fractionally after Evans shot the colonel from his saddle. Within a second, the third rider fell, probably from a shot by MacKay. Then the battalion had no officers; a fighting force with no one to lead it.

  The next twenty seconds gave the forty Hornets a chance to seek out any soldier showing signs of rank, then the Wasps joined in and the front ranks of the columns were shredded.

  Regardless of the speed at which they reloaded, the second shot from the modified muskets was into the backs of the fleeing and panic stricken mass of soldiers. Then a long, loud blast on Welbeloved’s whistle signalled the end to an unequal contest that he had tried to avoid from the beginning.

  Untouched and uninjured, the Hornets and Wasps formed up and made for the road again, as if nothing unusual had occurred. Observing closely, Welbeloved was highly amused and gratified, seeing that the Wasps were doing their utmost to appear even more nonchalant than the veteran Hornets.

  There were three baggage wagons belonging to the battalion, which no one had the heart to plunder seriously; other than a quick search for documents and despatches; when they saw the twenty or so terrified women and children. Soldiers’ women who had very likely lost their husbands or protectors in the meadows beside the road. Juanita found that some of them were Spanish girls who had taken up with ‘romantic’ French soldiers. Not all the people of Spain were violently opposed to the invaders.

  Whatever she felt about it, there was very little advice that seemed at all appropriate and they were left with their few possessions and three wagons to try and salvage their lives from the wreckage of a battalion of soldiers.

  Just four miles down the road they found the turning off into the mo
untains, where they spent the night and made contact with the band of semi-brigands that Tio Pepe had been trying to bring under his influence. The story of the skirmish; for Welbeloved refused to describe it otherwise; made a great impression, as did the quantity of muskets and ammunition pouches, harvested from their adversaries. The prospect of more of these, together with horses, brought forth a promise to seek an alliance with Tio Pepe as quickly as possible.

  Two days later, they found the army in the hills around Viseu, and Wellington’s headquarters in the town. The place was not a hive of activity and they quickly found out why. The first person to greet them was already an old acquaintance. Lieutenant Cholmondeley leapt to his feet, no longer disdainful, in fact a certain suspicion of hero worship was apparent in his demeanour. “Lord Alba!” MacKay’s eyebrows twitched. “I am delighted to meet you again, but if it is Lord Wellington you were hoping to see, it will be late tonight or early tomorrow morning before we expect him. Is there anything that I can do to help?”

  Welbeloved beamed at him. “Young Chumley! Good to see yew. This is Lieutenant Chumley, Hamish. Practically the General’s right hand at Talavera, so my wife told me. D’yew happen to know, Chumley, if Lord Vere is about anywhere?”

  Cholmondeley was pink with pleasure at the praise. “I do know, My Lord, but he will not return until dusk. Some of your men are with him, helping to train the Ordenanza. I can send a messenger to let him know you are here, if that is what you wish.”

  “That’s very civil of yew. Perhaps if I scribble a note, yor messenger could deliver it? What I really need though is a range where the men practice their musketry. Is there anywhere close by, where I can arrange a demonstration for Lord Wellington?”

  The young man looked thoughtful. “Shall you write your note, My Lord, while I find a messenger? Then I would beg your indulgence until I can take you where I practice with my pistols.”

  Welbeloved purloined a piece of paper from one of the tables and scribbled a note for Vere. Cholmondeley yelled for a courier and MacKay eyed him curiously. “Would you say you were a fair shot wi’ your pistols, Lieutenant?” He studied the young man’s innocent baby-face and immaculate, beautifully tailored, scarlet coat with something close to incredulity.

  Cholmondeley smiled sweetly. He looked little older than fourteen. “I flatter myself, that I can be rated fair, Sir. I am also competent with my sporting guns, but that don’t rate much here.”

  MacKay grinned. “If you can hit a moving target wi’ a load of buckshot, you’re probably better than most of the professional killers roond here. Would you like tae try a few shots wi’ my Ferguson here?”

  Cholmondeley’s eyes became big and round. “I say, Sir, might I really? I’ve watched Lord Vere demonstrating and longed to ask him for a go, but never dared.”

  They stopped their horses in a level area, about a hundred yards square, where the local masons had obviously been cutting stone, leaving a vertical cliff face with a lot of spoil at the base. Two targets were free-standing at the edge of the spoil and both were well and truly perforated.

  Welbeloved examined them both. “Yew use these at different ranges, I see. All the holes look like pistol balls. Are yor weapons rifled?”

  Cholmondeley took a case out of his saddlebag and handed it over. It contained two, beautifully balanced, percussion duelling pistols in blued, hexagonal section.

  Welbeloved handed them back. “They look frighteningly accurate for duelling pistols. What was yor range for the targets?”

  “Twenty-five paces and fifty paces respectively, My Lord. Any more than that and I cannot guarantee a hit.” “And yew can guarantee a hit at fifty paces?” There was the faintest hesitation. “There was one shot I couldn’t account for, but I suspect it went through a hole already there.”

  Welbeloved grinned. “Lend him yor Ferguson as yew promised, Hamish. Five shots at a hundred paces will show us if he’s as good as those targets suggest.”

  He only needed one demonstration of the loading sequence and automatically selected a prone position, resting the rifle on a small boulder, entirely regardless of soiling his pristine uniform. Even if his speed wasn’t up to Hornet standard, his five shots were grouped within a four inch diameter circle and he fussed over the gun when he had finished, making sure it was as clean as he could make it before, reluctantly, handing it back.

  Looking at the grouping on the target, Welbeloved smiled with satisfaction. “I would say, looking at the results of all yor efforts, that yew are a gifted marksman, young Chumley. If yew would like to play with another little toy, under the eye of yor general, can yew get ten man-sized targets erected here by tomorrow morning and can yew find me five riflemen with Baker rifles to do a little shooting?”

  “I am confident I can arrange that, My Lord, if you don’t need me any more today. I can–” “Chumley! Chumley! I have already told yew that my wife is the Condesa. If yew insist on being formal, Colonel will do nicely, or Sir if yew feel that won’t do. Now remember that and we shall meet here tomorrow as soon as Lord Wellington can manage.”

  “Yes, My Lo–, I mean Colonel, but surely you have heard? Oh dear! Maybe you haven’t –I had better let Lord Wellington explain. I shall be here, whenever the Peer is ready.” He rushed away, covered in confusion.

  Welbeloved looked at MacKay. “A very mixed-up child, wouldn’t you say, Hamish? He has talents that he doesn’t tell anyone about. The word is that he’s quite a useful bare knuckle pugilist and that is hard to believe when yew look at his baby-face.”

  “I don’t know about that, Sir, but I’ve not met anyone, not even Evans, who could put together a grouping like that, the first time he picked up a Ferguson. I certainly couldna hit that target wi’ a pistol frae fifty paces like he has.”

  “No, I doubt I could either. He talked about his sporting guns as well. It could indicate that he has some degree of fieldcraft. I wonder if we could entice him away from this life of luxury, if only for a period of probationary training?”

  “Perhaps George can advise on that? The reports he’s been giving on Mr. Tonks suggest that we could be getting a willing recruit instead of a pressed man.”

  ***

  Lord Vere was incredulous. “You mean that child that they call the toy soldier? I thought he was kept around as part of the decorations. Surely you must have mistaken the name, Sir.”

  Welbeloved grinned. “George, my boy, yew’re letting appearances blind yew. Yor toy soldier borrowed Hamish’s Ferguson today and put five shots inside a four-inch circle from a hundred yards. He shoots a pistol so well that he doesn’t miss a man at fifty paces.”

  Vere’s face was a picture. “I thought he was just one of Lord Wellington’s young aristocratic protégés. He has several well-connected young men on his staff. Some of them are even quite good at their jobs.” He looked thoughtful. “To be fair, all of them are adequate at what they do. He won’t tolerate stupidity or bad behaviour. He sent his nephew packing right smartly for not attending to his duties and going off without leave.”

  “There yew are then, George, yew can look him over tomorrow. He’s erecting some more targets and I want to arrange a trial of the twenty-five muskets that I’ve brought for yor Ordenanza. They’ve all been modified to breech-loaders by our talented smith Roberto. The Wasps used them two days ago and killed more than half a battalion of French infantry before they got nearer than a hundred and fifty yards. The copy of my report for the General is here.

  What I would like yew to do is bring four or five of yor Portuguese friends and show them how to use the guns, then let them have five shots apiece at a hundred yards. Next, we’ll have Chumley and four Wasps doing the same. Thirdly, I’ll get the girls of Hamish’s harem to use their modified carbines and lastly, I’m hoping that Chumley will have found five riflemen to fire five shots from their Bakers and five more from the muskets. If yew and Hamish time each session without them realising it, we ought to get some interesting comparisons.”

 
; CHAPTER 25

  It was very early the next morning that Vere escorted Welbeloved and MacKay into the headquarters of the Commander-in Chief. Wellington was in an exuberant mood, greeting them heartily. “Lord George has been keeping me so well informed that I find it difficult to realise that we last met at Talavera, Colonel.”

  “Very true and because of that, this is the first occasion on which I have had the pleasure of addressing yew as My Lord. It is, of course less than yew have earned, but yew have to remember that Nelson was made only a Baron after the most comprehensive naval victory of modern times. I think the government must be frightened of men of talent who would steal the laurels they consider rightfully theirs.”

  “Thank you for the sentiments, Welbeloved. Permit me to observe that they sound strange from the lips of someone who has striven to avoid deserved recognition from the government of the country he has done so much to help.”

  “That, My Lord, is pure political opportunism which I have agreed to, only to support my wife’s inheritance. I regard the title as courtesy only.”

  “Do you indeed?” Wellington grinned like a mischievous schoolboy. “Well, it may be political opportunism, My Lord, but it has been confirmed by the Regency Council in Cadiz and approval given by King George for you to accept.” He handed over a decorative package. “These patents make you a Grandee of Spain as Conde de Alba, jointly with the Condesa and we should all address you as My Lord.”

  Welbeloved shrugged resignedly. “It is a Spanish title and I expect that I can accept the honorific from Spaniards, but I truly do not wish my friends and colleagues to grant me a dignity I have not earned.”

  Wellington looked down his long nose. “I see. You only wish to be known by a title you have earned? Do you not remember the title you earned during the Corunna campaign, which was denied you because of political opportunism?”